


Who Widowed the Widowmaker?

by yossarian359



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Choices, Combat, Emotions, F/F, Fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 11:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13457316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yossarian359/pseuds/yossarian359
Summary: All Tracer wants is to stop the Widowmaker once and for all. But there may be more ways to do it than she thinks.





	Who Widowed the Widowmaker?

_Crack._

 

“Agent down. Sniper on the roof!”

 

A body crumpled to the floor in a lifeless heap.

 

Mercy reacted and fluttered to cover. She brought her hand to the downed agent’s neck to feel for a pulse, a futile gesture judging by the dark bleeding hole in his head.

 

Tracer met Angela’s eyes in a silent question. She shook her head feebly in answer, her grim expression silhouetted by the blue nighttime lights of Oxford street.

 

It always started like that. _Crack. Agent down. Crack. Agent down._

 

_“Why do you do this?”_

 

_“Because it makes me feel alive_ _chérie.”_

 

Widowmaker’s words ran through her mind. Tracer could practically hear her mocking humourless laugh.

 

It made her blood boil.

 

How many people had Tracer failed to protect? How many more would die just so Widowmaker could feel alive? _How many more?_

 

Her team was pinned down behind the payload as more of her bullets cut through the air. Lena edged her head out of cover and saw civilians fleeing the street to find cover, she breathed a sigh of relief.

 

She felt the bullet coming before it hit and blinked back. Such were the advantages of chronal instability: a sixth sense that allowed her to feel what was slightly ahead and slightly behind in the temporal spectrum. The phantom pain she felt had saved her life before and had done so now as the bullet passed through the space where her skull occupied only a moment ago.

 

_You sweet foolish girl._

 

Another gunshot. “Agent down”.

 

How many more?

 

“Not one more.” Tracer blinked out of cover into the open street. She stood determined, eyes scanning for her target… _there she is._ She blinked forward in space-time to avoid another fatal shot and took off running.

 

She vaguely heard someone telling her to get back. She didn’t care. Widowmaker had to be taken down for those she had hurt. For all those she had murdered. _Not one more._

 

Tracer could see the unmistakable red dotted visage now as she blinked into traffic, weaving her way around the cars swerving past her. Careful not to slip on the rain slicked road.

 

_Very good_ _chérie. Come closer._

 

She pushed that incessant voice out of her head and blinked to avoid a speeding bus, and then dove into the slipstream again to land in cover.

 

“Agent Tracer, get back here!” Soldier 76’s gravelly voice came through her earpiece.

 

She ducked her head behind a cement wall and brought her hand to her earpiece. “Not till I bring her in or take her out for good.” She replied, strained under the gunfire.

 

“Tracer.” His gruff voice was elevated over a hail of bullets. “If anyone can understand what you’re feeling right now it is me. So _listen_ to me soldier when I tell you _this isn’t worth it!_ ”

 

“I can get her!” She yelled back. “Just let me do this!”

 

“Lena.” Something in Soldier’s voice shifted, “You don’t want to go down this path of hatred. Believe me, there’s nothing good at the end of it.”

 

Another bullet flew over her head and she heard a shriek in the distance. Tracer knew what she had to do. Her heart was beating like mad in her ears; adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her muscles were sore, it didn’t matter.

 

“Lena are you-” She took her earpiece out and crushed it; her mind made up. Explanations could damn well wait.

 

Tracer scanned the London skyline for her enemy and found her upon a roof, seeing a flash of golden eyes in the distance.

 

A hundred meter sprint. She grinned and took off in a streak of blue light.

 

Bullets cracked past her as she dove in an out of time. Her hair swept back as her aching muscles carried her forward at lightning speed towards her target. She moved with the grace of a dancer, every step a move rehearsed a thousand times over.

 

_There you are._

 

A misplaced blink. She felt the shot before she heard it and rewound, the searing pain in her shoulder disappeared along with the bullet that was just embedded there.

 

_That must have hurt,_ _chérie_ _._

 

Tracer swore as she waited for her accelerator to recharge. She’d just lost twenty meters.

 

She brushed her hair out of her face and set off again before the lactic acid could set in.

 

This time she didn’t make a mistake and found herself at the base of the building her enemy was on top of and dashed up the stairs in a streak of blue and orange.

 

She knew Widowmaker was waiting for her, avoiding a carelessly placed venom mine. Tracer knew she was waiting for her outside the door leading to the roof and blinked forward to avoid her welcoming bullet.

 

_And she calls me predictable._

 

Tracer dove into cover behind a metal air vent. She could hear Widowmaker’s dark laugh from the otherside of the damp roof.

 

“Ah, you finally made it. I was beginning to have my doubts.” The way Widowmaker spoke with her smooth crisp voice infuriated her.

 

“I spotted one of your poison traps on the way up here.” This wasn’t their usual back and forth. Tracer spoke with venom. “You’ve gotten sloppy, _love_.” She could see Widowmaker’s reflection in the wetness of the roof. She waited for the moment to strike; for her accelerator to recharge after the pacing she gave it.

 

Her adversary’s response was another mirthless chuckle. “Such fight in you tonight.” Tracer heard her enemy load a fresh clip into her gun. She responded in kind as she drew her pulse pistols out of the holsters in her gauntlets with a smooth flick. Widowmaker continued: “This is going to be a good night _chérie_ _,_ don’t you think?”

 

Tracer wasn’t imagining the excitement Widowmaker’s voice.

 

She rounded the corner and shot streaks of pulse bullets at her enemy before blinking to avoid her retaliation.

 

She certainly wasn’t imagining the grin of delight that graced Widowmaker’s blue face as she shot to kill. _That monster._

 

Tracer blinked behind her and turned around quick. Widowmaker reacted faster, and fired. The bullet shattered one of Tracer’s pistols. She acted on instinct and blinked towards the sniper.

 

She managed to grapple the assassin's gun to the ground. Widowmaker responded by bringing the palm of her hand hard down into the Brit’s face, breaking her nose.

 

Tracer reeled and fired blindly with her remaining pistol. Blue lights lit up the roof. Widowmaker grasped her wrist and disarmed her, sending the offending weapon skidding on the wet roof.

 

“Looks like we’re even now”. Widowmaker smirked and moved into a kickboxing stance.

 

Tracer wiped the blood from her nose and brought her arms up to guard her face. “Since when do you play fair?” she spat.

 

Widowmaker’s eyes lit up as she chuckled darkly. “Only with you, _chérie_ _._ Only with you.”

 

Her words made her skin crawl. She blinked forward again, attempting to lodge her elbow in her neck. Widowmaker caught it and twisted her arm into a lock. Tracer rewound out of it, materialising behind the sniper, and kicked her in the back of the kneecap.

 

Widowmaker grunted. “Now who’s not playing fair?”

 

Tracer couldn’t help but smirk. “You think I’m gonna play fair with the likes of you?” She sped forward and aimed two jabs at Widowmaker’s head. The sniper blocked them both but Tracer blinked to the side and landed a mean hook on the side of her head, knocking off her recon visor. “Not on your fucking life!”

 

Widowmaker recovered in a heartbeat. She aimed her grapple hook at Tracer’s chest and fired. It latched onto a harness strap and pulled her towards her opponent. Widowmaker used the momentum to deliver a sharp kick to her head, shattering her goggles. She tried to follow it up with a devastating punch but Tracer blinked out of the way and Widowmaker broke her hand on the stone cold roof. She barely winced, a mixture of reconditioning and adrenaline subduing the pain.

 

They fought for what felt like hours. Widowmaker’s heart was hammering, faster than it should’ve been possible given her reconditioning. Her muscles were aching and she could taste the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. She was bruised, bloody, and panting for breath. It was _perfect._

 

Rage looked alien on Tracer’s freckled face, and Widowmaker couldn’t deny how it _excited_ her. Seeing her with such a determined intent to kill… She had never felt more _alive_.

 

Tracer blinked forward and tackled her. They both skidded to the edge of the roof where Tracer’s gun landed. Widowmaker reached for it but Tracer straddled her, crushed her wrist with the heel of her shoe and snatched the weapon out of her hand, bringing the cold barrel to press on Widow’s forehead.

 

They was panting, out of breath, and covered in blood and sweat. Widowmaker couldn’t help but let out a rich laugh, remembering a similar situation where she was being straddled by Tracer on the roofs of London. “This feels… familiar... _ma_ _chérie_.” Widowmaker purred between breaths.

 

“ _Shut up!_ ” Tracer hissed. “Don’t. Call. Me. That.” She brought her free hand to clench around Widowmaker’s throat. “You’re not hurting anyone else ever again. I’m making sure of that.”

 

She didn’t know what she expected from Widowmaker. Perhaps she expected her to laugh maniacally into the end. Or spit at her with indignation, or maybe even beg for her _pathetic_ life.

 

Tracer couldn't have ever imagined what she saw now: Widowmaker exposing her long neck, eyes fluttering shut as she as she gasped _“Yes… Kill me."_

 

“What?” Tracer said dumbly, ever so slightly withdrawing her gun from Widowmaker’s forehead. Her hand around her neck going slack.

 

Widowmaker slouched, disappointed by the denial. “No no no what are you _doing?_ ” She chased Tracer’s gun with her head, arching her body with her movement. “This is _perfect_ .” Her large yellow eyes met Lena’s. “Take the shot, _chérie_.”

 

Tracer’s brow furrowed. “... You’re serious... aren’t you?”.

 

Widowmaker writhed under her. “Yes you foolish girl!” She was getting frustrated, aching for the cool press of Tracer’s weapon. “This was… _magnifique_ _._ The way you fought… there was fire in you...” Widowmaker grew breathless. Tracer swore she saw her cheeks darken. _A blush?_

 

Widowmaker let out a long breath, her golden eyes fluttering shut. “You made me… feel... _ma_ _chérie._ ” She leant forward and brought her full lips to press on the muzzle of her gun. _A kiss._ “Please, kill me… _please_ .” Her voice low and sensual. Purple lips moulded against the muzzle, slow and delicate. _Pleading._

 

Tracer felt lost, her gun almost limp in her hand. Seeing her enemy like this, pleading, vulnerable, desperate... Tracer knew she couldn’t give her what she wanted. All her anger, her pent up rage, her _delusions_ of self-righteousness, they all disappeared into the night like water vapour.

 

Widowmaker pressed her tongue against the mouth of the gun and captured it with her fervent lips. “Kill me _Lena.”_ Tracer froze at the sound of her name on Widowmaker’s foreign tongue. “Lena. That is you name _non_?” She kissed the mouth of the gun again.

 

Lena didn’t see the monster anymore. All she saw when she met those sad golden eyes was an innocent woman who had been distorted and moulded into a killer. _Amélie Lacroix_ … _yes, that was her name._ A woman she never really met but heard so much about.

 

She remembered what Angela told her after Mondatta was assassinated: _‘The first widow Widowmaker ever made was herself.’_

 

Tracer didn’t care, she was livid, bent on revenge. Of course she called it _justice_ then.

 

Lena looked back and only felt shame. Shame for not saving Mondatta. Shame for wanting to murder Amélie _._

 

She withdrew her gun, and Widowmaker groaned in frustration. “Amélie?” Tracer asked, her voice careful and soft.

 

“THAT IS NOT MY NAME!” Widowmaker roared, pushing Lena off in an explosion of movement.

 

Lena had expected retaliation from Widowmaker, but she just sat there on the wet floor. Her face defaulted back to her usual sharp visage. “Amélie Lacroix is dead… she isn’t coming back.”

 

Lena nodded and rose slowly. “Widowmaker.” Her voice was careful after her outburst. Still determined to hope. To save. To make life better for someone.

 

At the sound of her name, Widowmaker looked up and met Lena’s soft brown eyes once more.

 

A small smile graced Tracer’s gentle face. It was so different than the hatred she wore before. But for some reason, Widowmaker felt like she missed it. The feeling was unfamiliar, she didn’t know what to do with it.

 

“Come with me.” Tracer spoke again, kindness in her small voice. “I can help you Widowmaker.” She slowly extended her hand to her, a gentle offer.

 

Widowmaker stared at her outstretched hand, for a second Lena thought she would take her offer.

 

For a second Widowmaker thought that too. But she shook her head. “No. I cannot go with you.”

 

Tracer’s face fell. For some reason Widowmaker couldn’t bear to look at her anymore. “Your doctors, They’ll torture me…  turn me into something I’m not, just like Talon did.”

 

“I won't let that happen.” Tracer said, genuine. Earnest _._ Widowmaker almost believed her.

 

“Non.” She said, and got to her feet. “It is better this way.” She picked up her rifle and strode to the edge of the roof. “You will regret not killing me _chérie._ ” Lena didn’t think she would.

 


End file.
